


Small Scrapes

by laure_lie (justawks)



Series: Rebel!verse [1]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Community: fma_fic_contest, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-23
Updated: 2014-02-23
Packaged: 2018-01-13 13:19:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1227859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justawks/pseuds/laure_lie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He watches her hands as she works, sees the silver band on the fourth finger of her left hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Small Scrapes

He enters the room slowly, with trepidation.

She’s sitting at the wooden table, head hung low and arms propped against the ragged edge of the tabletop. Her hair is waist-length and the color of straw; it hangs in limp sheets, like it hasn’t been brushed in a while. A red bandana is on her head, holding it out of her face.

He coughs once, to get her attention.

She starts, eyes snapping towards him. Her shoulders are tense; he smiles, but they don’t release. 

“Miss Rockbell?” 

She nods. 

“I was told you were the resident mechanic. My arms been giving me some trouble, and they told me to see you.”

She nods again, and gestures to the chair opposite her. He makes it in two strides, and sits without removing his eyes from her face. 

“What seems to be the problem? Is it sticking? Causing you pain?” 

Her voice is rough, as though it hasn’t been used in a while. He isn’t all that surprised. 

“The elbow’s been sticking, whenever I pick something heavy up.” 

She nods, eyes on his arm. She reaches for a wrench, and she’s popping off the outer plate and routing around inside his arm before he really knows what’s happening. 

He watches her hands as she works, sees the silver band on the fourth finger of her left hand. She wears it while she works, he can tell. The edges are lined with small nicks and scrapes from hammers and drills and wrenches, and it glitters, for a moment, in the weak light of the bunker. 

She works in silence for a few moments before he works up the courage. His throat is cleared once, twice, before he speaks. 

“Forgive me for prying, Miss Rockbell, but I was, um, told previously that you were married to, um, the...the Fullmetal Alchemist.” 

Her hand stills against his prosthetic. 

“Yes.” Her voice cracks as she says it.

“I was, um, sorry to hear about his capture.” 

“Yes,” she says again. 

“I was, um, wondering-” 

She cuts him off. “I should, um, get back to...” 

She trails off, and casts her gaze around the room, looks anywhere but at him. Her fingers tighten against the wrench, her knuckles turning an angry white.

He nods, mutely.


End file.
